


Satin

by wingedcatninja



Series: SPN Dean Bingo 2019 [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Angst, Drinking, F/M, Gambling, Mutual Pining, Panty Kink, Pre-smut, Rhonda Hurley - Freeform, SPN Dean Bingo 2019, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2019, dumbasses in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 00:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22066720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedcatninja/pseuds/wingedcatninja
Summary: An impromptu game of strip poker and too much whiskey reveals Dean’s sexy secret.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Series: SPN Dean Bingo 2019 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1387618
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Satin

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be smut. It took a turn. I apologize for nothing.
> 
>  ~~Square Filled (@spnkinkbingo): Panty Kink~~  
>  Square Filled (@spndeanbingo): Poker

You sighed and dropped the book onto the bed next to you. It was New Year’s Eve and you were stuck in the bunker instead of at a party. Even though it was by choice, it felt wrong. Leaving the book on the bed, you got up with the intention of getting a snack in the kitchen. The concrete hallway floor was cold, even through your favorite fuzzy socks. 

The faint sound of glass clinking against glass made you stop in the doorway, cocking your head. Forgetting about the snacks, you moved silently to the library doorway and peeked your head in. 

The room was almost completely dark, only a single table lamp shedding soft yellow light in one of the reading nooks. Dean sprawled in one of the armchairs, a freshly filled tumbler of amber liquid propped on the armrest.

You cleared your throat, accustomed by now to giving warning before approaching him. Having a gun or knife pointed at you is a good motivator for picking up new habits. 

Dean’s eyes flicked up to take in your silhouette framed by the hallway lights. He brought the glass to his lips and took a sip, then gestured with it at the other chair in the nook. 

Taking the invitation, you crossed the library and curled up in the chair while he poured a glass for you. The whiskey burned on the way down. You cocked your head and looked at Dean, taking in his appearance. 

“I would’ve thought you’d be out tonight,” you said, trying to keep your hidden emotions out of your voice.

Dean shrugged and took another drink. 

“Didn’t feel like it,” he replied. Raising an eyebrow, he looked back at you pointedly. “What’s your excuse?”

You tamped the emotions down tighter and gave a shrug of your own.

“Why put civilians at risk, right?” It was a safe enough answer.

“Right,” Dean nodded, his eyes still on you over the rim of the glass.

“So...were you just gonna sit here in the dark and drink by yourself?”

“Pretty much,” he nodded again, looking resigned.

“Ok then. Mind if I join you?”

He shrugged again, the small smile on his lips making the gesture less dismissive. You settled in with your glass, the alcohol spreading a comfortable warmth through your body. 

You had gone through the bottle between the two of you and started on a second when Dean started talking. A couple of glasses into the second bottle, the cards came out. Dean always claimed he was a better poker player than you or Sam, but you knew for a fact that that was not true; you were about evenly matched. You played a few casual hands, just for something to do while talking. What happened next was likely because of impaired judgment due to too much whiskey, although it could also have been because you were tired of dancing around those buried feelings.

“How about we make things interesting?” The words were out of your mouth before you had time to think about them.

Dean raised an eyebrow at you, a spark of interest in his green eyes.

“Go on.”

“Winner gets to pick an item of clothing for the loser to take off,” you forged ahead, sink or swim.

“You’re on,” Dean replied, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

Possibly he was feeling cocky since he had won the last couple of hands. You dealt out the cards, keeping your poker face with effort when you picked up your hand. When you played it out, you let the grin creep onto your face. 

“Shirt,” you smirked, leaning back in your chair.

Dean pouted at the loss but pulled his flannel off and left it over the back of the chair. You watched him when he picked up the cards, his hands shuffling the deck. You could see the look of calculation in his eyes. You hid your smirk.

He lost his boots that time. The next hand you lost, along with your own flannel. So it went, back and forth. You won more than you lost and soon enough Dean was down to his jeans and whatever he had on under those, while you had only lost your shirt and socks. 

“If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” Dean smirked at you.

The image of him naked that flashed through your mind distracted you, and Dean triumphantly laid out his cards.

“Looks like I finally get your pants off,” he grinned.

Grimacing to cover your blush, you peeled your jeans off, leaving you in only your t-shirt and panties. Because it was New Year’s Eve, you had wanted to dress up at least a little, so you had worn your fanciest pair of pink satin panties with lace trim and a little bow at the front. You had left off the matching bra because you wanted to be comfortable too.

You expected some comment from Dean so when he was conspicuously quiet, you dared a look at his face to see what was up. You found him slack-jawed, wide eyes glued to your panties with a far-away look. Even when you sat down, his eyes stayed on you.

“Dean?” No reaction. “Dean!” You snapped your fingers in front of his face. 

That pulled him out of his apparent trance, blinking and closing his mouth with an audible sound. 

“Huh?” Eloquent as always.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d never seen a pair of women’s panties before, Winchester,” you teased.

“Shut up,” was apparently the best retort he could manage. He pushed the cards towards you. “Your turn to deal.”

“Yeah, no, I wanna know what that was,” you probed, leaving the cards on the table.

“What? Nothing. Dunno what you mean,” Dean muttered, hiding behind his glass and emptying it.

“Uh-huh. Convincing. C’mon, spill,” you pushed.

In the few seconds it took him to pour another drink, his eyes flicked back towards your hip where the pink satin was stretched over your skin, then quickly away again. He downed the entire contents of the glass and poured another before he managed to meet your eyes. Even then it was only for a second before he looked away.

“Dean?” You were unsure now if you should keep pushing this, he seemed genuinely uncomfortable. “Look, forget it,” you collected the cards from the table, your fingers working on auto-pilot to shuffle and get them in order.

Leaving the deck on the table, you stood up and collected your clothes, intending to go back to your room and leave Dean to his brooding.

“Just an old memory,” Dean muttered behind you, so quietly you almost missed it.

“What?” You turned to face him, your pants and socks clutched in your hands.

His eyes flicked to you again, but your panties were hidden from him by the jeans you held in front of you. They went back to studying the whiskey that swirled in the glass.

“Your- your panties,” he said to the glass, “just brought up an old memory.”

“Oh.” You suddenly had no desire to know more. If it involved pink satin panties, it probably involved a girl, and you already knew more about Dean’s love life than you ever wanted.

And yet, you did not walk away. His body language said that he was uncomfortable, but also that he seemed vulnerable and there was just no way you could leave him like that. The wooden floor warmed against your bare feet while you waited. The cool bunker air made goosebumps erupt on your legs. Dean’s bare chest was right in front of you but all you could see were his eyes. Emotions swirled in them like storm clouds. You would have sat down, but you were afraid if you moved it would pop the bubble that was this moment. Dean would brush it all off, bury his emotions and never talk about it again.

“I was nineteen.” The sound of Dean’s voice almost made you flinch. In the silence of the library, even his soft mumble was loud. Once he started talking, you could not have moved had you wanted to.

“Her name was Rhonda Hurley. Dad and I were working a job in west Texas and she was a waitress at the local diner. A couple years older than me. Her smile turned my head.  _ She _ picked  _ me  _ up, I guess. Called me pretty and wanted me to put on her panties.” His eyes flicked to your crotch, still hidden behind the pants you held in your hands, then back to his glass. “She could tell I liked the way they felt on my- well, y’know. She didn’t make fun of me for it. Didn’t make me feel like it was wrong, or bad.” Those eyes flicked half-way up to yours before sliding away and back to studying the liquid in the glass. “Never told anyone before,” he muttered and tossed back the rest of the drink.

Dean looked deeply embarrassed. That look was what prompted you into action. Your hands released the grip on the clothes, letting them fall in a pile at your feet. Green eyes dark with emotion immediately flicked to those pink satin panties, glossing over with memories. You closed the distance between you, stepping in between his legs. 

Sliding your thumbs under the waistband of the panties, you ostensibly adjusted them, your fingers caressing the shiny fabric. Dean’s eyes were riveted to what you were doing. Leaning down slightly, you took the empty glass from his fingers and set it on the table. Taking his hands in yours, you placed them on your hips, his palms firmly atop the soft fabric. 

Dean took a trembling breath. He was focused on what was right in front of his face. You wondered if it was because he was afraid to look at your face; afraid of rejection. Two fingers under his chin, you tilted his face up toward you until his eyes met yours. His breath hitched and you knew you had managed to convey your feelings to him.

Your free hand came up to tangle your fingers in his short hair. Not pushing, or guiding; simply reassuring. His fingers curled under the edge of the panties, touching the material, caressing the flesh beneath. When you felt his lips through the fabric, you knew. This would change everything.


End file.
